


Enthralled

by Misanagi



Series: The Tame Way [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Branding, Caring John Winchester, Gen, Hurt Dean Winchester, Protective Dean Winchester, Rituals, Self-Sacrificing Dean Winchester, Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-13
Updated: 2020-06-13
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:35:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24704689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Misanagi/pseuds/Misanagi
Summary: One tribute every five years to serve. His or her life forfeited to Ninurta. A thrall to the god, the hunters and the hunt. A small price to pay, John thought. Now, as he’s facing the prospect of being the one enslaved he doesn't think it’s such a bargain anymore.
Series: The Tame Way [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1786033
Comments: 4
Kudos: 31





	Enthralled

**Author's Note:**

> This AU just came to me when I was trying to fall asleep last night and today I just wrote this first part. I’m making this a series so I can write little scenes here and there. This is how it begins.
> 
> Unbetaed. Please let me know if you find any mistakes.

When John opens his hand to reveal the red pebble he knows he should have listened to Bobby. He was playing with fire and now he might just have burnt the fucking house down.

He lifts his eyes from his hand and looks straight at Dean. The boy is white as a sheet, his freckles somehow more prominent in the bonfire light.

“You have one hour, John,” Lawson says, sympathetically. “Talk to your boy and have the other one here in time if he’s to be the sacrifice.”

“No!” Dean’s voice cuts through the tension. “Sam stays out of this.” He locks eyes with John and John nods, once. There’s a reason he left Sam at Bobby’s. His youngest doesn’t have to get involved in this.

The other hunters start to move away to the edges of the clearing, speaking in low tones until Dean and John are relatively alone.

“I’m sorry, son,” John says because there’s not much more to say. They’re fucked. Rather, one of them is royally fucked and it’s all John’s fault.

“Sammy stays out of this,” Dean repeats and John hears the slight break in his voice. Behind the bravado, his boy is scared.

Dean is the toughest sixteen year old out there. He has killed werewolves and ghouls, been thrown against walls and cut and burnt on the job. He takes care of his bother, faces ghosts and keeps pace with John and his admittedly strict training. Dean is though but not even John can handle what’s about to happen without his knees trembling slightly.

But there’s one thing they are firmly in agreement, so John takes a moment to steady his voice and nods, “It would _never_ be Sam.”

Dean lets out a breath and some color, not all, returns to his face. The boy knows what’s at stake, what will happen now. John never saw the need to keep the ugly realities of life from his eldest so the first time John took a knife to his own arm on the night of Summer Solstice eight years go and pledged himself to the god of the hunt, Dean was standing right beside him.

There’s a long pregnant pause before John clears his throat.

“You need to promise to take care of Sam,” Dean says before John can speak. “You need to be there for him if… if I can’t.”

“You aren’t doing this, son,” John says firmly and realizes, just in that moment, that he had been considering it, in the back of his mind where he keeps his most private thoughts. He has failed his sons time and time again since Mary died, but this, this is on him and he won’t let Dean carry a burden he didn’t sign up for.

“You need to take care of Sam.” Dean straightens up and looks at his father straight in the eye. “I’m sixteen. CPS would take him away—”

“No!” John interrupts, “Bobby can—”

“He can’t,” Dean says, without letting him finish. “Last year, when CPS grabbed us in Poughkeepsie he used the uncle story to get us out but they didn’t buy it. They were back the next day.”

And that’s why John has been staying clear from New York State since. If Bobby uses that alias again they might be flagged, but even so, chances are low and Bobby Singer has mor than one trick up his sleeve.

“Dean, I won’t go away,” Jhon says, m instead of arguing. “I’ll stay with you and your brother, most things will remain the same, I’ll just—”

“No!” That’s a word Dead doesn’t say ofter. Sam and John are the stubborn ones but when Dean uses that tone, John knows he has a fight on his hands. “Dad, I can’t let you…” The boy swallows a shudder. “You need to take care of Sammy. You need to hunt the demon. I can take care of this. Let me take care of this.” He gives John a broken smile and a shrug. “It’s hunting. Giving myself to the job. I can do that.”

“It’s more than that, Dean, and you know it.” John is suddenly angry. “This isn’t your responsibility. You’re only here because of me. I did the ritual, I bled and pledged myself to this god and not you. So this is on me!”

“Might be, but as your blood, Sam and I got the benefits, so we got the risks too.”

Sixteen. Dean is just two months away from being free, from being able to make his own choice. Until he decides to do the ritual or not on the Summer Solstice after his sixteenth birthday, he’s still considered under John’s protection and part of the pact. After tonight, either way, Dean won’t be doing that ritual. John won’t allow it.

“Dean, you don’t even know what it means to be the sacrifice,” John says softly.

“I’ve read the lore,” the boy replies. “Bobby let me borrow his books and a saw a thrall once, at Bobby’s…” He tries to hide a shudder “It royally sucks and I would much rather other son of a bitch had drawn the red pebble but it can’t be you and I won’t let it be Sam, so it has to be me.”

“I’m the one who decided to take the risks and do the ritual.” John was the one that ignored Bobby’s warnings. Eight years ago when he first pledged himself, he thought it was worth the risk. He did the math before he took that blade to his arm: there’re more than one hundred hunters pledged to Ninurta in North America, he’s risking one chance in a hundred every five years that he’ll be called to serve. Low odds. And the rewards? A bit more strength, speed, endurance and accelerated healing. Not in superhuman scale, not even cose, but enough to give him an edge.

And while his sons are under sixteen they share the benefits. The werewolf injury Dean got a few months back could have ended up with the boy loosing his arm. But he didn’t. The bone and muscles mended and now he’s as good as new. Without the gifts of the hunter’s god Dean wouldn’t have been so lucky.

When John calculated the risks and deemed them acceptable he never thought he would ever be holding that red pebble in his hand. He played the odds and lost. What kind of father would he be if he let his son pay for his recklessness?

One tribute every five years to serve. His or her life forfeited to Ninurta. A thrall to the god, the hunters and the hunt. A small price to pay, John thought. Now, as he’s facing the prospect of being the one enslaved he doesn't think it’s such a bargain anymore.

“Dad?”

Dean’s voice breaks through his thoughts. He gathers his resolve and sighs. “I’m sorry, son. You watch out for Sammy, you hear me?”

A long look passes between them and Dean finally lowers his eyes in acceptance. John pulls his son into a one armed hug and swallows a sob. He can feel Dean shaking slightly in his arms.

“Let’s get this over with,” John says, composing himself. “Lawson!” He calls out loud to the hunter designated to preside over the Spring Equinox ceremony. “We’re ready.”

Slowly, the hunters move back into the clearing and Lawson takes a step forward. “John Winchester, a member of your family has been chosen by the draw of the stones to serve as sacrifice to Ninurta. Do you wish to draw stones and let luck decide who will that be of have you decided?”

John steps forward and looks at the other hunter straight in the eye. “I’ll take the pebble.”

John had only been present in the last Spring Equinox ceremony five years ago. The man who drew the pebble then was a rugged hunter in his fifties. He tried to run and had to be force fed the stone. John stands up straight. He’ll face this with his head held high.

Lawson nods, opens a small leather pouch and lets a small dull red pebble fall on the palm of his hand. He extends his open palm towards John but suddenly, before anyone can move or protest, Dean snatches it. He puts the pebble in his mouth and swallows it.

“No!” John shouts. “What have you done?!” he yells and forces his son’s mouth open, pushing his fingers in and searching in vain for the stone.

Some pulls on his shoulders. “John, John! Stop, John! It’s useless, it’s done.”

When John can focus again he sees a red glowing light under the skin of Dean’s throat, signaling that the sacrifice has been accepted. “What have you done?” he repeats through gritted teeth.

The boy opens his mouth but no words come out. The glow shines brighter and Lawson pushes John to the side. “We need to complete the ritual or he won’t be able to breathe.”

“No!” John yells again. “It should be me.” He tries to get to Dean again, maybe he can make the boy vomit, throw up that cursed pebble.

“It’s done, John,” Lawson repeats. “Either we finish it or he dies and we’ll be short a tribute.”

“Fuck it!” John tightens his palms into fists but stands aside. He watches Lawson take the ceremonial dager out and bring the tip to Dean’s throat, right where the red glow shines. He pierces the screen as he speaks the Assyrian words to bind the new thrall to the god. When the first drop of blood hits the ground, Dean takes in a breath. The wound on his neck closes immediately, leaving only a thin white line running vertically in the middle of his throat. The scar will never fade.

“Dean Winchester, you have taken the pebble and pledged yourself to Ninurta, god of the hunt. As of now you’re his thrall, bound to the hunt and a servant to the his followers.” Lawson extends the dagger, handle first, towards Dean. “Ninurta’s gifts will protect you in your servitude. Cut your left hand to accept them or cut your right hand and speak the name of the one you wish to bestow those gifts to.”

Dean takes the dagger on his left hand and John is the only one who doesn’t let out a sound of surprise when Dean quickly slashes the palm of his right hand and speaks loudly and clearly, “Sam Winchester”.

The silence is thick and suffocating and it feels like eons pass before Lawson takes the dagger back and orders Dean to take his shirt off.

The night is chilly and there are goosebumps on Dean’s naked back. The boy lets Lawson lead him to the wooden pillar that has been fixed to the ground on the side of the bonfire. Dean kneels facing the post when he’s ordered to and allows Lawson to chain his wrists in the iron shackles welded to the post.

John’s nails are still buried in his palms and the beating of his heart pulses loudly in his head. _Du-dum, Du-dum, Du-dum_.

“For your sacrifice you get to impose one rule”, Lawson says to the boy. “One exception and only one. The magic of Ninurta will bind us all, followers and not followers alike to keep this rule.” Lawson pauses and when he speaks next his voice is gentler and he moves closer to Dean, speaking to him instead of making pronouncements to the whole assembly. “You can think on it for a few minutes, Dean. You just surrendered your life to the god, to us, so if there’s one thing you don’t want to be subjected to, one thing you want, this is the moment to ask. Think of it as an exception. A get out of jail free card.”

John takes a step forward. He wants to talk to Dean but Lawson holds him back. This is a decision his son needs to make alone.

Only a few moments pass before the boy speaks. “Sam doesn’t find out.” Dean’s voice is low but it carries easy in the silence of the clearing. He raises his eyes to look straight at Jhon. “You keep him out of this. He doesn’t learn about Ninurta or what I’ve become. Zilch! He doesn’t get to pledge himself to the god because he doesn’t learn about it and no one spills the beans about me. You make sure of it.”

Sam. Always Sam. It shouldn’t surprise him. Dean has been devoted to his brother since he pulled him out of the fire and even though Jhon has been making sure that Dean knows it’s his job to watch out for Sammy, Dean has never really needed the reminder.

Sam comes first. Always.

Lawson walks to the fire and returns with the branding iron. The intricate Assyrian design glows and angry red. There’s no warning before he presses the brand firmly on Dean’s back, between his shoulder blades.

Dean’s scream pierces through the sound of John’s beating heart and not a week will pass without John hearing it in his nightmares.

“Your request is accepted. You have taken the pebble and you’ll wear the god’s mark.” Lawson pulls the branding iron back. The design, Ninurta’s sigil, is burnt on Dean’s skin. “Tonight you’ll commune with the god. Tomorrow your service begins.”

* * *

An hour before dawn Lawson parks his truck beside the Impala. John spent the night on the side of the road, waiting for sunrise so he can go to Dean.

Lawson gets out of his truck and stands beside John in silence. They wait together until John says, “I’ll go to hell for this.”

Lawson shrugs. “Maybe we all will.”

“It should have been me.”

Lawson doesn’t contradict him. He takes a leather bound book from his inside pocket and hands it to John. “Read it, show it to the boy. It’ll help you prepare for what’s in store. Give it back when you’re ready.”

The predawn light is enough to see it’s a handwritten journal. The pages are yellowed but preserved and the script is clean, legible and in English.

“It was written originally by a thrall in the eighteen hundreds, here in America. Some notes were added later by different hands. It explains it all very clearly. The limits of the spell, what your boy will experience, what you need to do to help him…”

John puts the book in his jacket’s inside pocket. He has crossed paths with thralls only a couple of times. He didn’t need to see the scar on their throats or the marks on their backs to know what they were. He could feel it and now every other hunter bound to the god will feel it when they see his son. They’ll know and they’ll treat him accordingly.

“What he asked for, now I’ve never heard of anyone asking for that.” Lawson lights a cigarette and takes a long pull. “Mostly they ask for money and yeah, fate intervenes and they win a lottery, inherit some shit. They’re still slaves, though.”

 _Slave_. John recoils at the word. He doesn’t want to know it or think it. Doesn’t make it any less true, though.

“A couple have asked for thralls of their own,” Lawson continues. “Nasty business but allowed. One fucker asked to be given a woman and we had to abide. Another idiot asked to never miss a shot one one fucker for a few more inches on his dick… the smart ones use it to set limits. Demand not to be forced sexually, not to be ordered to harm themselves or to do things they don’t like, fasting, celibacy, limits on punishment.”

“Shut up!” John’s voice is low and dangerous. “I don’t want to hear this.”

Lawson ignores the threat in John’s voice and offers him a smoke. “But your boy, he asks to keep his brother innocent. How old is Sam?”

John takes the cigarette and lights it with his own lighter. “Eleven. He’ll be twelve in May.”

“Do you know what Dean gave to his brother, gave up for him?”

“The gifts?” The words leave a sour taste in John’s mouth.

“Most thralls keep the gifts for themselves. They need them. Thralls can’t be killed or maimed as punishment, how are they supposed to serve Ninurta if they are? But they still live a hard life. That bit of extra strength, the endurance, the healing we have as a hunters bound to the god is but a fraction of what a thrall receives for their sacrifice. Those gifts are meant to sustain them and your boy willed them away to protect his brother without a second thought.” Lawson finishes his smoke drops the stub on the ground. “I don’t know if I should admire him or pity him.”

They remain silent until dawn breaks and when the first light touches the ground they venture into the forest and back into the clearing.

Dean is kneeling where they left him, wrists shackled to the pillar and the red and angry brand burned on his back. His eyes are closed and his breathing is deep but John doesn’t think he’s asleep.

The fire died in the night and Dean is shivering slightly in the cool crisp morning air. John kneels by his side as Lawson unshackles the cuffs.

John wants to yell, to shake Dean, scold him for who stupid he was, how he just threw his life away, how he never listens and how disappointed John is in him. He wants to shake Dean hard and keep shaking him until time turns back and he can undo last night. He would do it, he would do anything _anything_ not to be kneeling by his son, releasing him from his vigil just to begin a life of servitude.

But John learned when he watched his wife burn on the ceiling that there’s no rewriting history, there’s no turning back, so he swallows his guilt and rage and desperation and carefully helps his son up.

Dean remains silent while John half carries him back to the car. Lawson walks behind them and helps settle Dean on the back seat of the Impala. Before he goes to his own car Lawson fixes John with a hard stare and says, “Take care of the boy and if you need me, you know how to find me.”

The drive back to the motel is silent. The room is cold and after placing Dean carefully facedown on the bed, John turns the heather on. He gets the first aid kit and sits next to his son. “This will hurt,” he warns.

Dean screams into the pillow when John starts cleaning the brand and by the time he finishes securing the bandage, Dean is crying silently. John gets a bottle of water for his son and patiently helps Dean take small sips until it’s empty. He covers the boy with a light sheet and runs a hand softly down his cheek. “Sleep, Dean. You need the rest. We’ll figure this out when you wake up.”

It’s only a few moments before Dean’s breathing evens out. John is tired. He hasn’t slept either but the book Lawson gave him burns in his pocket. He needs to know. He needs to take care of Dean whichever way he can and for that he needs to know all there is about being enthralled.

It’s hours before he’s done. There are passages he reads more than once and halfway through he takes out his own journal and takes notes. A plan starts to form. Horrible and disjointed but John has never shied away from work that needs to be done and this is no different.

Sam will be protected. Dean saw to that and it’s the least John owes his eldest. Sam will be protected and Dean will survive.

Things won’t be the same ever again and John will have to reinvent himself, just like he did after the fire and after he found out the truth about the things that lurk in the dark. He will push his boys as far as he has to and make sure they’re both still standing in the end. He’s comfortable being the bad guy and he will do what needs to be done.

Dean will get through this, John will make sure of it.

**Author's Note:**

> \- So this is me dipping my foot in the Supernatural fandom. We’ll see how it goes… 
> 
> \- Ninurta is an Assyrian god of agriculture, hunting and war worshipped in ancient Mesopotamia. That’s about the only thing based on myth in this story. Everything else, I made up. 
> 
> \- I wanted John to be an asshole and just let/make Dean take the pebble but he wouldn't let me. He's still an ass in this universe, even if it doesn't show as much in this story.


End file.
